


Reno

by dirtbeast



Category: Original Work
Genre: Original Character - Freeform, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 01:53:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1710680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtbeast/pseuds/dirtbeast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When I was just a baby my mama told me. Son,<br/>Always be a good boy, don't ever play with guns.<br/>But I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die</p>
<p>[warn: violence, murder, death, food, mention of Bear Grylls ingesting his own piss]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reno

If Holley possessed a constantly functioning nose, he would be very displeased right at this particular moment. The smell of burning flesh is no delight and Holley's opinion on it is very consistent with everyone else's.

Holley doesn't enjoy working overtime (who does) because of the late hour murders. He could be home right now with a bowl of reheated spaghetti watching Nat Geo Wild or Bear Grylls ingest record-breaking and unhealthy amounts of his own urine but here he is, what feels like knee deep in human ashes, trying not to step on some poor guy's barely intact Rolex.

The unfortunate soul had been adultnapped or something similar Holley guesses, he doesn't bother wondering about the specifics anymore, and then set on fire when the perpetrators needed to destroy evidence. Holley took him instantly to spare him the agony; he died of shock before burn.

Holley doesn't stick around. There's a whispering in the corner of his mind telling him he's needed elsewhere. The human's soul is scared and not at rest, however. He must relax it before letting it go.

"Michael."

There is a soft moment of stillness. The soul's mass roughly pulsates in confusion and fear and Holley's heart aches for the will without a vessel. He bows his head to rest his cheek against it, hoping the contact calms his charge if not only slightly.

The faux heartbeat flutters a few more times before Michael forgets himself and joins the choking smoke rising into the air. Holley's chest constricts painfully and he does his very best to ignore it as he moves silently to his next assignment. Thankfully it is his last for the night and marginally closer to home.

 

Holley enters the grocery store, skin absolutely sucking all the fun out of the fluorescent lighting. The place smells like hotdog samples, wet naps and that stuff they dump on puke at school. Holley deeply regrets opting to sense the smell of this place. It's obviously and unsurprisingly not up to par with his Trader Melchizedek's and its lasagna samples. If he had a small violin he would play it at the funeral for this grocery store's potential. 

'Does anyone even shop at Kmart,' Holley wonders, asking himself the most depressing rhetorical as he spots off-brand cheap cheeseballs and soda barreling towards him, teetering on the mountain of junk food in a pixie's cart. Holley dodges neatly out of the way, flattening himself against a shelf lined with variously flavored pickle brands. He refuses to make (what could be considered) eye contact with the cheeky stork as he ambles by and cringes as he sees why that pixie was hustling so fast.

'So this is why Heelys are banned in supermarkets,' Holley muses to himself, not aloud because that would be awkward to the people encircling the disaster by frozen foods. He steps easily over a sad, fallen ham. Groceries cover the floor. He takes and releases the soul with no difficulty, stopping to buy a tub of mint chocolate chip on the way out and opting to keep it cool with his own hands.

 

Holley does plant crossbreeding math in his head on the way home, redundantly reassuring the eager masses for the vastly large numbered time that he is quite possibly the most powerful nerd in the universe. The bus is musty and caked with gum in every place you would least expect it but convenient for not having to walk half across Shit City at 3AM while suffering through the loss of your favorite sweater unraveling in the left armpit for the sixteenth time. Holley hates knitting.

Usually Holley's shift is fairly good; starts at 1:30 ends at 9:30. Gives him ample time to tend his plants, indulge in human media, order takeout, deeply regret ordering takeout when he gets food poisoning, repeat cycle. Holley likes his beat and would appreciate if Roger would stick to his time slot, thanks. Dickweed.

Tonight it's too late for TV and cheap, semi-raw and hardly Chinese food though. Tomorrow is another day of soul releasing and spending part of his nest egg on his weight in desserts and Holley thinks sleep is slightly more important to his well being than Bear Grylls. ♦

**Author's Note:**

> another drabble, this one is a lil longer


End file.
